Hold Still
by madnesswrites
Summary: A boy who loves with his entire soul. A girl who barely knows how to love at all. This is what happens when a sheltered mind meets a lonely heart. Everyone has a story to tell. This is what life is made of.
1. Chapter 1

**Hold Still.**

I've been writing twi fic for awhile. However, this is my first time posting and I am so fucking nervous.

**Please read**: If you decide to come on this journey with me there are some things you should know. This story deals with heavy subject matter like heavy drug use/addiction. And sexual situations. Drug use is frequent.

Even though this story is angst it is also, at heart, a **love** story. So, keep that in mind when deciding whether to continue reading or not.

The amount of feedback I get will determine if I even post more of this story so don't forget to leave reviews and what not if you like.

**-HS-**

_I am older now, _

_but I am colder now._

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**Prologue.**

Edward.

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.

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When I close my eyes I see her.

I see her liquid brown eyes and lovely closed-lip smile. Her soft skin and delicate curves. Her wavy caramel hair and precious, priceless belly-button.

She is so, so sweet in my mind.

When these thoughts start to hurt my chest, I just think about them more.

I see hear her soft voice that whispers calm words. I hear her small laugh that fills my stomach with love.

I see her.

I see all of her.

I see her underneath me, her soft hair fanned across my crisp white pillow cases, she's smiling and she's happy which means I'm happy.

She whispers my name like I mean everything, _"Edward..." _

She giggles as she reaches up and touches my face. Her thumb traces my smiling lips. I balance on my forearms and lean down to kiss her. Her lips taste like summer-time and maple syrup.

She's young and wild and so fucking beautiful.

And I love her.

_I love her._

_I love her. _

But then I open my eyes. And I am alone. The bed I sit on is empty and the sheets are cold and lonely. My bare feet touch the cold, hard wooden floor beneath me and I miss her bare feet touching the same floor. I miss her cute toes and red painted nails.

I imagine her touching me now. Her fingertips touching my skin and tracing my bones. My favorite feeling in the world. Sweet, soft, simple.

It is everything.

_She_ is everything.

And I miss her.

_I miss her. _

_I miss her._

When I met her she was already falling apart.

I tried to catch her. I tried to fix her. I tried to love her.

I failed.

But I hear the door open behind me and then I hear _that_ voice;

"Edward?"


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for the follows and reviews guys :) I hope you continue to enjoy.

**Again this story involves heavy drug use and sexual situations so keep that in mind. **

**It is a slow start but hang in there. Its gonna get good!**

If you like what you're reading then_ please, please, please_ send a review! And rec!

Not beta'd so ignore stupid mistakes.

Enjoy.

**-HS-**

_"We all get addicted to something that takes the pain away."_

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**Chapter One.**

Bella

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.

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The quiet around me is bliss. I'm not used to this much silence, this much peace.

I close my eyes tighter, not wanting them to open. I want to fold away and crumble into myself and sleep until the world ends. The sun shimmer-shines through the window. It heats my eyelids and makes me realize I'm still alive. The pain reminds me that I'm alive. My body aches. My bones creak and crack and my skin sizzles and burns and melts in the morning heat.

My head is too heavy to lift. My lips are dry and stained with...something. My mouth tastes stale and salty. My stomach is turn, turning. I don't remember last night. I'm sweating. My entire body is dripping with the filth of last night's adventures.

I feel dirty and lifeless.

The hard floor is cold under me, clashing with my heated body.

Then I begin to hear the grunts and groans and moans around me and I know that I am not alone.

My right hand lies in some kind of smelly-sick. I don't know what it is. I don't want to.

I peel my eyes open and crust falls from them. They are moist and dry all at the same time. I can't move. My body is useless to me and my mind is dead to the world, just like most mornings. There are bodies littering the den floor. Loud snores fill the room and everyone is mashed together. Just a tangled mess of sweating teenage madness.

The bodies pile up.

I am too old for this shit.

My body may be young, but my soul has already lived a few life times.

The air smells like teenage angst, broken hearts, and regret.

My arms shake as I push myself up. My bones bend and break easily. My body is weak and unforgiving.

My body is much too worn for it to be the body of a twenty-five year old. I am falling apart when I'm supposed to be just beginning.

I laugh at myself because there never was a start for me. I was born this way, born with hate in my bones and violence in my eyes. I was destined for disaster. I had no chance.

My eyes burn from the sun. They pound in protest as they meet the light. I gag. I hate the sun.

I'm already waiting for the night again. It's when the creatures come out and everything is unhinged. Nobody cries and crazy people fill the rooms. The sun scalds, burns, and punishes me. The sun hates me too.

Night is easy to blend into. Nobody really sees you and your weakness. It's just darkness and happiness and messes to be made. The moon is my fucking savior.

I sit up and my ribs ache.

I pat around for my cell phone. I check my jacket pockets, jean pockets, my boots. Nothing.

I feel sick to my stomach. I squint and let my eyes look around the room. It's old and dirty. Dusty-dim and smoke filled. The air is heavy to breathe in. The old brown wallpaper is chipped and stained.

There is a young looking girl lying next to me in nothing but a bra.

I have no idea where I am.

I manage it down the stairs on shaky legs. They are too thin. My hair sticks to my clammy forehead and my clothes cling to me because of the slimy-sweat that drips on me from head to toe. It's so fucking hot in here.

Down stairs looks the same as up, piles of half-naked teens, drug filled, partied out, and silly-stupid. Wrapped up in their own worlds I'm sure. They probably all have boyfriends and girlfriends to go home to or parents to explain to. I envy them.

The kitchen is the only empty room and for that I am thankful. The table is already set up for me. I smile at the sight. The only thing that can make me feel better. I grab a straw and snort three lines like it's as natural as fucking breathing. My body buzzes and my head is clear again. I am alive. I rub my nose until I can barely feel it.

I move to the front door and quickly exit the small house. The fresh, cool, Fall breeze touches my face and kisses my lips. It clears my lungs. I pull my soft leather jacket tighter around my body.

My hair whips in the wind and I feel how knotty and matted it hit. I haven't showered in a few days.

My eyes scan my surroundings. The neighborhood I'm in is run down and deadly quiet. The houses are small, broken, and ugly. The small shack-like house across the street has many unconscious bodies littered on the front lawn.

I walk down the old, cracked concrete path between the over-grown grass that surrounds me.

I find my phone in my front pocket, I don't know how I missed it before.

It is 11:00am. I scroll through my contacts until I find the number I was looking for.

But before I get a chance to text first, a message pops up, and it makes me smile.

_Hey, hey, hey beautiful - G._

Garrett is my best friend. He's pretty much the only person in this world that can make me genuinely smile.

_I miss you - B._

_Come home. - G._

_I can't. - B._

_Why not? - G._

_I don't know where the fuck I am? - B._

My phone begins to ring.

I answer and press the cold surface to my ear.

"Hey, sugar plum." His voice is happy and smooth. He's high and content.

I smile some more, "Hey,"

"Had fun last night it seems, huh, baby girl?"

Garrett is my safe place.

I picture his sandy blonde hair and blue, blue eyes. Garrett is beautiful.

We met four years ago at a party. He walked in and everybody swooned. He tried to get into my pants within the first ten minutes of us meeting. He was cute so I thought - why not?

It was the most awkward and uncomfortable attempt at sex ever. We couldn't even make it past second base. We just didn't go like that. Our lips didn't fit and our bodies didn't sync with each other. We ended up just laughing the whole thing off.

He's been my best friend ever since. It's our minds that match, our hearts. We're the same him and me.

We're nothing but bad influences on each other but it works for us. Garrett's life is just as fucked up as mine. Our parents hate us and we're self-destructive. Held together by safety pins. Like I said, it just works for us.

He's a crack baby and a drug addict. His mom abandoned him and his dad is dead.

"I don't really remember," I tell him honestly.

He laughs but I don't see what he finds so funny.

"I'll come get you" I hear his car keys jingle from the other side of the phone.

I love him and how he is always so willing to take care of me.

"I told you" I sigh, I crane my neck and look side to side, I peak down the street and still don't recognize anything "I have no idea where I am."

"Well," Garrett is using his calm voice. He never seems to be worried about anything. Ever. It's both extremely comforting and unbelievably annoying. "Find out so I can come get you. Who did you go out with?"

I try to wrack my brain but I come up blank.

"Shit," I whisper to myself.

I kick the ground with my dust-dirty boots. A dust cloud puffs around me.

I'm stuck.

I'm stuck, until I hear a loud, familiar voice behind me shout, "Were you just going to leave me here you fucking bitch?"

I feel my shoulders slouch in relief.

Garrett chuckles, "I guess we know who you went out with."

I hear her footsteps as she begins to walk towards me. She swears under her breath and I catch a few words like, "Fucking asshole, just going to leave me, bitch, why do I do this to myself, asshole, god damn it, fuck."

I roll my eyes and try not to smile.

Tanya.

Tanya is my other very best friend.

I turn around to see her making her way towards me. Her strawberry-blonde curls bounce lightly on her shoulders as she walks. She has her purse and car keys clutched tightly in her right hand.

She stops in front of me and glares up. She's shorter than me, which I cannot say about many people.

"What the fuck did I do with my shoes?"

I look down to see that her feet are bare and her nails are painted pink. They're chipped and I know that irks her to no end.

I shrug.

"Those shoes cost me five-hundred fucking dollars." Her eyes narrow and her jaw clenches.

Tanya is a rich, snobby bitch.

Her make up is fucked-up smudged, lip gloss is smeared across her cheek, dark purple circles beneath her eyes. She is still so beautiful.

I've known Tanya since diapers. Our moms used to throw us in a sandbox together and go get fucked up. So, we tended to cling to each other once we started school.

It's a miracle we managed to stay friends this long, honestly. Tanya and I have absolutely nothing in common. She's everything I'm not, leggy, blonde, nice ass, glowing-gorgeous. She has shocking hazel eyes and red, red lips. Boys flock to her.

But she's a bitch. We're constantly fighting and she always has a stick up her ass. But, just like with Garrett, Tanya and I have our own special way of working. I love her to pieces. She's saved my life so many times that I can't keep count. If it wasn't for her I would have been murdered and left in a gutter somewhere already. Tanya is best-friend-goodness.

As kids, we were all the other one had.

Garrett's voice gains my attention again, "call me when you get home safe and kiss Tanya for me" Before he hangs up he adds, "with tongue."

Tanya and Garrett have a unique relationship of their own. They fuck and hold hands and kiss and laugh but they're not "dating". They're not in a "relationship".

Garrett is too fucked up to be in a relationship and Tanya is too much of a slut to be with one person for more than a week. They're in love though. Sloppy, sappy, fucked up love. I see it in their eyes. But love is fucked. It makes people crazy. It makes people do fucked up things.

Tanya and Garrett hurt. I can tell. It kills them that they can't just be together. Their hearts bleed. My heart bleeds for them. They're jealous and possessive.

I slip my phone into my jacket pocket.

"Do you at least know where my car is?" She huffs.

I smile and shake my head.

"You are so fucking useless, Bella."

I shrug. _I know._

I tug a piece of her hair playfully and she bats my hand away with a scowl.

Tanya isn't into drugs like me and Garrett. She's more of a drinker and even then she doesn't party a lot. See, Tanya actually has a chance of a future unlike G and me.

Our futures ended before they even started.

Tanya though, she comes from a wealthy family.

She'll do Coke once in a while and pop a pill here and there. I got her to try acid the other week but she doesn't do it often. She's not that into it. Garrett tries to keep her away from it as much as he can. He doesn't want her to end up like us. He says she can't, he'll die if she does, and he can't wreck her like he knows he will.

I agree with him. G baby is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

The three of us all have pretty fucked up pasts but out of all of us, Tanya is the only one who will be able to escape her past. She has something to look forward to.

Garrett and I are the sad misfortunes.

When we were younger Tanya was one of those rich kids that you see in movies. They get everything they want except for love or whatever, they're raised by their nannies and don't have any "real" parents. Yeah, that's Tanya.

Her mom's a crack head and her dad left when she was two to go start a new family with better kids and a better wife. Tanya talks to him from time to time. I know when he's called because Tanya's usual loud mouth locks herself away for days and ignores my calls and Garrett's calls.

So, I guess the reason Tanya falls into the group is because her parents hate her too.

"I don't know, buttercup" I say.

We find her car a few blocks over, about an hour later. Tanya made me carry her on my back for most of the time so she didn't, in her own words, "step on someone's dirty needle or some shit is this ghetto town."

Tanya drives us home and I sleep the whole way there.

.

.

.

Everything is light, bright, and beautiful. My head is surprisingly clear and concentrated. Its night-time clear and summer-air fresh.

Tanya drove us to her house and then told me to walk home because she's a bitch.

I don't mind walking though. I never have.

I'm not high.

Usually when I'm high and stomp and trip and stumble through the town and have a hard time avoiding hitting people. People stare and jump the fuck out of my way and I just keep walking like a zombie among people.

Some people glare, some laugh, some just look clueless like they don't know what the fuck is going on. Most people know though. They're smart enough to know that I'm the town druggie.

I don't really sell the shit, unless I'm really hard up for cash. I'd just end up doing all my own drugs.

I light up a cigarette. The smoke in my lungs is just what I need. Oh, so fresh. Oh, so sweet.

I kick-walk my way down the street. Pebbles fly and my boots scrape the dirt. They're my favorite. Tight, cling to my calf, can live through anything - they've been through hell and back. Tie up laces and so much comfort.

"Bella!"

I turn my head and exhale the smoke lazily.

I groan when I see the face that matches the voice, Mike, a piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe or the fly that appears right when you start eating and won't leave you alone.

Mike is a wannabe druggie. He...tries to fit in because he doesn't know what else to do. If someone isn't telling him what he should be doing, he's a lost puppy with nowhere to run.

He comes to me for pot from time to time. I've never actually seen him smoke. He likes to pull out a joint when he's around people to look cool but he always just lights it up and passes and it never touches his lips. Plus, I think he wants to prove that he's not some kind of narc. His father is Charlie, head chief police here.

Charlie knows me fairly well...I've had a few run ins with him. Most of them involved me wearing handcuffs but that doesn't stop Mike from coming around to get drugs against his father's wishes.

Charlie is cool though. Apparently, and I never bothered to ask how, he knows about my mom and my past and why I'm so fucked up. So, he cuts me some slack. He has to arrest me from time to time when he catches me though because, well, he is still a cop. He's intimidating at first glance. Not in the manly-man huge muscles giant kind of way. He just looks like a shady cop that will tackle you the fuck down, gruff look, hard voice, no smile and that fucking mustache.

But he's a sweetheart on the inside. Sure, he's awkward and says "uh" a lot and can't hold a conversation with someone for more than a few minutes but he always means well.

He knows enough about my situation to where he even lets me crash at his house from time to time when "everything gets to be too much" – in his words – I've only taken him up on his offer a few times. He feeds me and I have a comfy bed to crash in for the night. Mike doesn't mind at all but his sister, Charlie's other kid, Rosalie, fucking hates me. I honestly have no idea why because I've barely said two words to the girl in all the years I've known her from high school. I've just chalked it up to the fact that she's a hostile bitch.

I wave Mike over and he crosses the street, galloping like a happy pooch.

I usually just give him the shit for free since he only comes every once in a while and only needs enough for one blunt. Plus, I want him gone as soon as fucking possible. He tries to be a smooth talker but honestly he just comes across as a horny virgin. He's sweet but…desperate and like I said, he's annoying.

"Hey Mike."

I don't stop walking because this is around the time the bugs come out and if I don't get where I'm going fast I'm going to be eaten alive by those things. Apparently I have really sweet blood because those fucking mosquitoes can't get enough of it.

"Hey Bella" His smile is wide and fresh and it makes me smile in return. Mike is a good kid, no matter how annoying he may be "where are you headed?"

I shrug. "Nowhere in particular, why?"

He doesn't know where I live and I don't want him to.

I puff on my cigarette and I feel nighttime freeness.

"Well, I'm having a get together tonight and I was just wondering…you know…"

I smirk and look over to him where he walks on my left. His eyes dart around like someone could be listening and he hasn't even said he needed some pot yet. I laugh, loudly, if he only knew the kind of shit that goes on in this city. I guess Charlie hasn't filled him in. No one is going to bust him for smoking a little pot, not even his dad. I bet he still thinks running with scissors in school will get you in trouble too.

He's young - he's nineteen and fresh-faced and simple.

I shake my head and bring my smoke back up to my mouth.

Mike looks at me and smiles "What are you laughing at?"

I decide to play with him a little bit just because I'm in one of those moods.

Mike gets embarrassed easily.

"You're having a party, huh?" Mike's kind of parties involve a few of his friends coming over for a night of video games and pot smoking

He nods and smiles shyly.

"What do you need?"

Mike has never actually said it to me - pot, weed, bud, trees - he always just says "do you have any" and I know. But I want to hear him say it. I want to see little Mikey squirm a bit because it's fun and I'm a bitch like that.

His eyes widen a little and he is actually an okay looking kid. He has big blue eyes and bleach blonde hair, his face is so fucking smooth and I've never noticed until now.

He looks back and forth before meeting my eyes again "You know…"

I smirk, smoke, and play dumb "Well, I have a lot of things Mike and a lot of people who buy those things. Now, what kind of thing are you looking for?"

He stumbles on his feet a bit and I cough-laugh on my smoke. Poor boy is blushing over some fucking weed.

"Just…my usual."

I'm laughing so fucking hard right now.

His face is so red that I'm embarrassed _for_ him.

I pull a baggie out of my pocket and slip it into his hand. He glances around again like I'm openly handing him a bag of Coke on the street. I roll my eyes but smile.

"How much?" his voice is quiet.

I smile and bump his shoulder so he stops looking at his feet and looks at me instead. His blush is slowly fading.

"It's no problem, Mike" I throw in a wink just for shits and giggles and toss my smoke before turning the corner.

I see Mike smile out of the corner of my eye.

Yeah, he really is a sweet kid.

….

I'm starting to shake. I need a fix. I shiver and pick at the dried skin of my bottom lip with my teeth.

My phone dies about an hour ago and I only have one cigarette left from the full pack I started with.

The cold, thin air hurts my lungs and I need to quit smoking. But I won't.

Sirens blare in the background and my ears ring along with them. I feel my stomach flip.

I pull my too-thin jacket tighter around my small, shivering frame.

The wind hits my face roughly and pats my cheeks again and again - they burn cherry-red. My eyes begin to water and a tear falls between my lips. I lick it away.

The streets are dark and quiet - like most nights.

I pass a few people I know. I don't say hello and neither do they.

Ben is young and homeless and a drunk. He sits on a bench with an empty bottle of tequila in his hand. His eyes are open but he doesn't see. He has one unmoving hand stuffed down the front of his jeans and his eyes are glazed.

Mrs. Cope is a local homeless woman. She's sweet and old and didn't deserve any of the shit that life handed her - that made her end up here. _Alone_. _Lost_. She's dirty - her face black with dirt. Her feet are bare and her toes are blue.

When I have extra cash, which isn't often, I throw it her way. Unlike Ben she doesn't spend the money on booze or drugs. She isn't homeless because she's a fuck-up. She's homeless because life _fucked her over. _

I tell her she can come stay at my place all the time but she always just smiles, pats my hair, and shakes her head. When she smiles her wrinkles crinkle more and seem deeper.

_This is where broken souls live._

_This is where broken hearts surrender._

When I finally reach my building my whole body sags in relief. I almost passed it - caught up in the steady pattern of my footsteps.

It's an old, run down building with no character and no life.

It's not a home.

I make my way up the rusty stair case and don't even care how loud I am.

There are only five apartments in this building. Mine is the top. I open the door and it's no relief from the cold. I have no heat. I don't bother locking the door when I'm out because there is nothing to steal in here.

I flip the switch on the wall and the florescent lights begin to buzz - turning on slowly, one by one.

The wallpaper is yellow and peeling. The rugs are green and stained. There is nothing in my fridge but a rotting apple and some Pepsi. It smells like loneliness whenever I enter this room.

I have no bed. Springs poke out of my old worn-in couch

The first thing I do, the first thing I always do, is move to the kitchen and fling open the farthest, small, creaky cabinet. But its empty. I reach inside and search frantically and my hand hits the back. Nothing.

"Fuck!"

I kick the counter. I was wrong. There is something to steal. My fucking back up stash.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

On instinct I rush out of the room and down the stairs until I reach her door.

She'll be sleeping but I don't care. I bang loudly, heavily, angrily.

I already feel my heart beginning to race. It pounds in my temples and bangs against my ribs - hurting. My hands shake as my fist hits the old, green door again and again. The medal 1 shakes and falls off.

I start to kick the door too. I get louder and louder. Dogs bark in the distance but, to me, the world falls away.

There is only one thing on my mind. There is always just _one _thing on my mind - in the forefront anyway.

It comes before anything else, anyone else. Its sad and tragic but its the cold, hard truth.

"Jane!" I yell, my voice isn't my own. It's raw and rough and real. "Jane, open the fucking door!"

A sharp pain shoots through my stomach and I yell louder.

"Jane!"

Both my palms hit the door and my palms sting. My forehead hits the cold surface.

Everything is spinning and happening so fast.

I cry.

I cry in pain.

I cry in sadness.

I cry because I'm pathetic.

And then the door opens and so do my eyes.

Jane stands in front of me with sleepy eyes and soft lips. She blinks slowly and her eyes move over my body. She has cut her hair short and it is ruffled messily. Her eyes are unfocused.

She is in nothing but a pair of black boy-shorts and a white tank-top. She doesn't wear a bra.

Her skin is translucent white and so, so smooth looking.

"Jesus, Bella," She says quietly "What the fuck?"

I stretch my arms and hold my weight against the door frame. I move my face closer to her's. Her body shivers from the outside cold and I suddenly feel bad for waking her in the middle of the night.

But I needed to.

I _needed _to.

She smells like violet.

"Someone stole my back-up."

It's all I have to say and she understands.

She wipes away my tears.

She wraps her arms around me and pulls my inside.

Her apartment is a bit nicer than mine. It's still old and run down. But she puts some effort in. The walls are painted a red, auburn color. She's purchased some couches and chairs from second hand stores. She has a small, old TV and a broken computer she swears she can fix up.

She sits me down on her soft couch and feeds me what I need.

She sit cross-legged on the floor, across from me. She sets everything on the coffee table. Everything that makes the pain go away. Everything that hurts and heals.

She uses a razor to cut the little white lines and I am hypnotized. My eyes follow her movements, my mind thinks of nothing else, my fucking mouth waters.

She pushes the mirror towards me and hands me her straw.

I close my eyes and my movements are automatic and natural. My hand still shakes as I bend down and place the straw at my nose.

I snort.

I breathe.

I live.

My hand stops.

I glance up at Jane and her smile is so fucking beautiful.

"I like your hair." I tell her truthfully.

Her eyes light up like a kid's on Christmas morning - wide, innocent, lovely.

She reaches up and touches the ends while laughing. "Really? I was nervous that you wouldn't."

It's drastic. Just a few days ago when I saw her - her hair was pitch black and touched her waist. Now, its cut to her head and its white. It fits her better though.

"It looks like sunshine."

She giggles again.

I snort some more lines.

Jane is a sweet tragedy. A pretty little thing.

She has a pure mind and a pretty soul.

I love her.

I met her a year ago and basically fell in love with everything about her. She's witty and smart. She has soft blue eyes that sometimes turn black and a sharp tongue. She likes to read old classic novels and used to go to NYU.

She's a Heroin addict.

She has a simple soul.

A child's heart.

She's beautiful. Maybe not an obvious kind of beautiful. She's unique looking and it may take a while for people to see just how wonderful she is.

She bites her bottom lip and wrinkles her nose.

"You smell like shit, Bella"

I laugh.

"Do you have hot water?"

I shake my head and lean back against her couch.

My heartbeats begin to slow, but soon it will pick up again, for a completely different reason now.

The reason it beats in the first place. The reason I live.

"Take a shower here."

I want to sleep but soon I won't be able to.

I've always had an instant and unexplained connection with Jane. An urge to protect and take care of her. But somewhere along the way our roles have reversed. She takes care of me so happily. I'm not fit to take care of a house plant let alone another human being.

Even though she is breakable and fragile, she takes care of me.

Jane sighs and stands. Jane is a tiny little thing, about my height, a little thinner "I'll get you a towel" she puts her hands on her hips and looks completely frustrated and tired.

Jane always looks exhausted with dark, blue circles under her eyes. Worn skin and heavy eyelids. Alec keeps her busy.

The reason Jane always has the lights on and hot water running is because she doesn't sell drugs from time to time. She sells her body. I hate it. She knows. Alec and some guy named James are the ones that handle it all.

Tonight there is a new bruise. This time on her neck, a hand print, a throat shot. I clench my fists. Jane sees me looking, sees my anger.

"Bella don't" She sighs and walks away.

I drop it like I always do.

My head is finally clear and my body begins to settle.

I am okay for now.

I rub my nose.

I snort some more lines before I hop in the shower.

Afterwards, Jane makes us chocolate milk and we drink with silly straws.

We fight over the red one because it's the only red one in the pack. She wins three rounds of thumb wrestling and five rounds on "Rock, Paper, Scissors".

She falls asleep with her head in my lap.

I don't sleep.

Ever.

.

.

.

Addiction, one simple word.

Addiction, that bitch will fuck you up and laugh while you cry.

Addiction, a loss of choice.

Addiction. Once it touches your life it can never leave. It's always there. It can be suppressed or hidden but it is never fully gone. It surrounds and corrupts and destroys. It takes everything away without giving anything back.

Addiction. There are many forms and many ways and many, many reasons but the result is all the same. Addiction will ruin you. Addiction plants itself inside of your body, it grows through your muscles and runs through your veins, and it becomes a part of you until it eventually becomes all of you. It swallows you whole.

Addiction, obsession, consumption.

_Gone, gone, gone._

Addiction. It eats away at your until you're nothing. Until you're gone. Until you're dead.

And I feel my addiction inside of me every single day. I feel it taunting me, breaking me, eating me alive. It calls my name. It grabs my weakness, it is my weakness. It squeezes until I break.

Maybe I was always weak. Maybe I was just born a naturally weak person. I don't know. But the addiction…it has stolen any strength I've ever had in me, if there was any, it's gone. The addiction, my addiction, it's crushed everything and it's made me weak. So very weak.

Addiction…it's my weakness, my destruction, my failure, my downfall, my life.

My addiction owns me.

_And I am nothing._

.

.

.

The night is young and the air is filled with possibilities.

Garrett drives way too fast, cigarette in mouth, and windows rolled down.

Tanya is laughing from the passenger side of the car. She yells something about her hair being fucked up and G tells her she's beautiful. Her eyes shine with loveliness and her eyes are bright.

I look out and see the night stars shining and they know I am alive. The dark is here and the dark is my best friend. She holds me close and makes me feel safe.

The harsh cold wind hits my face hard and burns my cheeks and I love it. I twirl the joint I'm holding between my fingers and breathe in the fresh night air.

My lungs fill with bliss.

I see Tanya kiss G's neck and the car swerves.

We laugh loudly and I feel the air around us fill with our love.

The night takes away the pain and she erases the bad and fills us with good.

Tonight we are happy, even just for a little while. A small moment in the misery of life.

Tonight we can do anything. We can be anyone. We can make fucking magic.

Happy.

Wild.

Free.


End file.
